


Discernibility

by Rigil_Kentauris



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes
Genre: Gen, Gender-Neutral Summoner | Eclat | Kiran, Overt suicidal ideation, Stargazing, Subtext suicidal ideation, TW: Knives, that's it that's the whole thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 11:58:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15024113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rigil_Kentauris/pseuds/Rigil_Kentauris
Summary: They’ve imagined it before. They’ve dreamed it before. And as long as no one's watching, they can feel it, too.





	Discernibility

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read the tags please do. Be safe peoples

Kiran is not a jumper. They’ve never been. Falling holds no appeal to them, except for the thought that for a moment, they’d be free.

For a moment.

The castle has so many tall places, and yet it’s hard to find ones that haven’t been found before.

Kiran smiles faintly, and leans against the coarse parapet with their hands dangling over the edge. The sun has set some time ago, and it’s brisk. Brisk but somehow, not unpleasant. Askr is never unpleasant. Always idyllic. The wind blows softly on warm days. The rain falls lightly on cool days. The clouds form fantastic unreal shapes, and even the fields seem to sway in a way that defies the laws of _life doesn’t work like that._ It’s a place possessed of more beauty than any other place Kiran has ever seen.

That this profusion makes the war hurt all the worse, Kiran does not think about. There is so little that they can handle these days.

Their smile trembles slightly.

The knife strap-bolted into the inside of their boot hums, as if wind is caught in the sheath, causing the blade to vibrate on another plane of reality. In another world. As if the knife is purring past some unknown gate and all Kiran has to do is fire an orb to bring it home. _The work of a moment,_ Kiran thinks.

Their fingers itch. Their whole hand does, with the need to move and hold and grab.

_The work of a second._ They’ve imagined it before. How the coolness of a blade between skin would feel. Like liquid, like fire. They’ve _dreamed_ it. They feel it now. More dense than density. It’s a weighted knife, and so it’s solid, and it’s heavy, and it’s grounding.

It’s grounding. Even the shape of it in their imagination pins them down and makes it hard to move.

“Kiran,” someone says, and Kiran starts. Checks themself over mentally in the space of a short second. How they’re standing. What they were looking at. What their hands were doing.

“Zacharias,” they say, looking back over their shoulder. Their voice is even. It usually is.

It’s important that it usually is.

He walks up, and leans against the parapets a few feet away from them. He doesn’t say anything else.

They curl their hands tightly around the edge. The stone is rough and weathered, and the strident pieces dig deep into their palm. They’re used to the tension in their shoulders. It doesn’t hurt now. Neither do their hands.

They’d dig deeper but they’re being watched.

“I am not here to judge,” Zacharias says haltingly. Kiran tries to remember how to say _haha, I’m fine,_ but they’re stuck, spiked through the imagination by the slick tranquil feeling of a blade.

“Though,” Zacharias adds slowly, “it would perhaps be more...fitting, to say I am not here to...to discern.”

Kiran can see him frown briefly out of the corner of their eye. He talks without looking over. Speaks to the air that Kiran was looking through. As if neither of them were quite certain they were where they were.

No, Kiran knows. Kiran is always certain.

Temporally, at least.

End of the line.

“I hope that makes sense,” he explains. “I don’t...I don’t intend to take anything from this time, but, of course, that which you would offer – and should you prefer to keep your thoughts and concerns to yourself, then...”

He pauses for a moment. The knife-shaped gravity well in Kiran's boot is strong enough to nearly bring them to their knees, right now. Grabbing for something that they can’t have.

“Then,” Zacharias continues, looking down at his own gloved hands, “Then I shall be content to simply remain here, for the moment.

“The evenings are beautiful in Askr, aren’t they?” he finishes, finally glancing over.

Kiran sometimes doesn’t recognize him without his mask on. Kiran sometimes wishes he would put it back on. Zacharias studies things, studies people. Inspects them intently. Endlessly.

Nervously-passing-for-Quickly.

It’s as if he’s forgotten there’s no one trying to hurt him anymore.

Kiran forces themself to speak past the dark lump in their throat. “Yes, they are,” they say, and are surprised by how busted up their voice sounds.

They get ready for the inevitable interrogation, and for the inevitable pack of lies they’ll have to dispense to convince both him and themself.

Zacharias says nothing, though. He nods instead, before returning to his position on the railing.

It takes Kiran a few minutes to settle back into watching the Askran world far beneath them. They have to keep checking every few moments. To see if he’s doing anything but watching the same landscape that Kiran is. To make sure he’s not watching Kiran when Kiran isn’t paying attention. To see if he’s not... _discerning._

He isn’t, though. And that’s...

The knife isn’t humming anymore. And that’s frustrating. At least while it is, Kiran can dispel the ache in their head with thoughts of _at least there’s some chance of resolution_. Now, though, it’s just cold, and windy. It’s much too late outside, but the night sky has never been more awake. The stars spiral out in vast, intricate combinations. Stardust-brushed galaxies expand out across the sky like half-healed wounds. Blue and green and purple hazes flutter away from the lines, thin veils of color bruising out along the edges of the starscape. It feels as if someone painted the Askran sky with colors that did not exist, with colors that _could_ not exist except when placed next to millions and millions of starpoints. Kiran had seen pictures, once, of the way the night would look without lights to block everything good out. They’d never believed the pictures to be real, not really. Something wistful and nostalgic.

They couldn’t breathe the first night they’d been here. They breathe deep now, and believe it.

“They are beautiful,” Kiran says quietly.

And they are. Truly. Cold and welcoming and out of reach but someday, somewhere, there exist people who can wave back to you from the moon.

The smallest smile manages to twitch its way to Kiran’s face. They haven’t told the Askrans about the space program. They’ll enjoy seeing the reactions.

Kiran shivers deeply, pulls their cloak tighter. It’s freezing outside. Frigidly so, and they wonder how they didn’t notice it before. They stand away from the parapet to brush errant stone debris off themself, and then they realize how easy it is to walk.

They quiet themself, and listen.

Quiet. Pure quiet. Silent, except for the wind eking through the spires higher above. The humming is still now. The humming is still for now, and without it Kiran can hear the things they’ve been ignoring. Their body telling them that they’re a little cold. A little tired. Or worn out, maybe.

They take another step back, and adjust their robes and hood again. They don’t know if they should say something. Even if they did, should it be _farewell_ or _see you later?_ They don’t actually know, now that they're concentrating, whether they ought to leave him alone at all. Don’t know if they’re being selfish, if they’re not paying attention, if they should be-

“Will I find you here again tomorrow?” he says carefully, without inflection or expectation, without looking back. He says it while trying to make it seem like he isn’t, and it almost brings another smile to Kiran’s face.

Then Kiran realizes they have to answer, and any desire to smile fades.

“I...” they say, wanting to say _I’m fine._ “Yes,” they answer instead. “Yes, probably.”

He nods, a sharp clear motion. “Alright.”

Kiran gets a few tired steps away before he adds, “Good night, Kiran. Sleep well.”

“You too,” they say, and try to pull themself out of it for long enough to make it back to their room, where they can finally collapse into bed.

**Author's Note:**

> strident //**A/N haha *sweats* that’s not really how you use that word so if youre tryna put it in your vocab from now on...technically correct but not functionally or colloquially, i think**//


End file.
